-Falling Out Of The Broom Closet-
by PilLsNPotionz
Summary: Hermione Granger wanted nothing more than to have all the right answers, Ginny Weasley dreamed of nothing less than amending her family's tarnished reputation, but The Yule Ball - that look, that touch, those sparks - would confirm for both girls that there would be no growing out of nor running away from the attraction they had for one another.


Chapter 1

\- Muggle Studies -

Hermione Granger scrutinized the sizable bookshelf labeled "Muggles", the corners of her mouth twisting into a frown the further along she went without detecting a single textbook that could prove an inspiration for her end-of-term paper.

"Oh no!" She gasped in shock at the sight of a tattered To Kill A Mockingbird novel wedged haphazardly between an unraveling world atlas and a pristine looking algebra workbook. Her petite hand reached for the classic, creasing back the cover page in concern. "What. An. Idiot." The Brunette returned the novel to its appropriate shelf - after Faulkner but before Miller - her cheeks flushing with anger at the realization that "wizarding blood discrimination was identical to, if not worse than, muggle racism."

Hermione went back to perusing the shelves of textbooks. Professor Burbage had instructed the class to present a 9 inch paper focusing on the development and execution of modern social movements. She had gravitated towards issues of gender equality, a topic that, in recent months, turned out to be both intriguing and unsettling for The Young Witch.

Running a hand through her tangled hair, The Brunette locked eyes on a thin biography titled 19th Century Women: Sexuality & Suffrage hiding on the bottom right shelf of the bookcase. She glanced side-to-side, insuring that she was indeed alone in the aisle, and reached for its slender spine. A sudden clank trailed by the thudding of spellbooks onto the aisle floor next to hers startled The Young Witch and her grip on the paperback faltered.

"Oh Merlin!" Hermione squeaked as she peered through the small hole that had been made between bookcases.

Tall frame, slender build, dark complexion; Hermione recognized the boy across the aisle to be none other than her fellow Gryffindor, Dean Thomas. He was standing chest-to-chest with a petite, blonde girl, one hand trailing down the small of her back as they snogged.

"Of all the places, the library?!" The Young Witch thought to herself in disgust. She stole another glance through the peep hole, her stomach fluttering with nervous butterflies, then toward the bookshelf where the biography sat, inconspicuous to the browser's eye. Confident that she could continue with her research in the morning, Hermione excused herself into the corridor and headed toward The Great Hall for a spot of dinner.

As she walked, The Brunette traced the edge of her lips; first in thought, then in longing. "I wonder what it would be like…" she trailed off, a crimson shade blanketing her facial features "… to be snogged." Hermione hadn't seen the blonde's face, let alone her lips, but she imagined that they were soft: "very soft and very snoggable." Yet, before the strange thought could take root, The Young Witch shook it from her consciousness, choosing to focus instead on the sight of a familiar face beckoning her towards the Gryffindor Table.

"Neville?" Hermione stalled in the archway, uncertain if the lanky, dark-haired boy had truly elicited her company. He waved again, more animated than before, displaying a toothy 'I can't believe my luck' sort of grin. Sighing, The Brunette dodged a group of 1st Years blundering out of The Great Hall and sat down on the bench opposite her schoolmate. His hazel eyes stared graciously into her own before he spoke.

"She said YES!" Neville croaked, his words clinging to the warm, fragrant air that enveloped the Hall. He reached for the bright orange bottle labeled Pumpkin Juice as Hermione furrowed her brow.

"Who? Oh wait…" She trailed off then rephrased her question "…You mean Ginny? She's going with you to The Ball?" A hint of disbelief shown in her voice.

"I couldn't believe it either. Me? Escorting Ginny Weasley to the Yule Ball?" Neville hummed the melody of a traditional Hogwarts waltz as he hand-picked chicken wings from a platter.

"Neville that's wonderful!" Hermione ventured aloud, careful not to betray her congratulations with the disappointment swelling inside her.

Deciding on a distraction, The Brunette took to piling her silver plate with an assortment of pies and casseroles. One forkful at a time, that's all she could manage, as she fought against all the uncomfortable questions floating to the surface of her consciousness. She looked up at Neville, but he was too engulfed in his mound of fluffy, white mashed potatoes to register the look of horror on her face. So, in an attempt to further escape her own perturbing thoughts, Hermione focused what little attention she had left on the dancing flames of a levitating fire pit situated on the far side of the room, but she was startled to notice the petite, blonde girl from the library settling into a seat at The Ravenclaw Table.

"That is quite enough!" The Young Witch declared in a voice that resembled McGonagall's; the kind of embarrassing outburst she concealed with a loud cough. Hermione gathered the remaining dribbles of chocolate pudding into her spoon and before she could swallow, excused herself from the dinner table and set out in search of the sanctuary of her Common Room.

Now distanced from the hustle and bustle of The Great Hall, The Brunette began to recall the events of her afternoon; of the girls – one a complete stranger the other her closet friend– and of the strange urges each one generated inside her. "Who was she…No, no…Why did they…" Hermione feared the answer to her own question so much that she continued racking her brain for a "more plausible explanation".

The Young Witch hugged folded arms to her chest, keeping with a fast pace as she ascended the final flight of steps. "I must be jealous… Jealous that she has someone to snog… And I don't," without missing a beat she added "… And Ginny? That was just me being a good friend… -err- Wanting her to find someone who's worth her time."

Rounding the portrait covered corridor of The 7th Floor, Hermione arrived at The Gryffindor Common Room right behind a group of somber 5th Years.

"Banana Fritters!" The dark, scraggly haired boy ahead of her declared and the large portrait of the Fat Lady swung open.

Hermione maneuvered through the makeshift hole and inching closer toward the crimson colored loveseat opposite the hearth, called out for her spellbooks. One after the other, tattered textbooks floated down the spiral staircase, dropping onto the cushion next to The Brunette. She reached for the schoolbook titled Home Life & Social Habits of British Muggles and flipped eagerly toward the later chapters.

"Oh, in the name of Merlin!" The Young Witch grumbled, her heart sinking further into despair as each chapter read turned up fewer points for her assignment than previously anticipated. She let out a sigh, closed the hardback with a thunk, and unraveled a clean piece of parchment for her Potions report, unaware of the slender, red-headed girl sneaking up behind.

"Guess who?" The Red-Head inquired, a tone of mischief seeping through her pleasant voice as she covered the other girl's eyes with pale fingers and awaited a reply.

"I wonder," Hermione began out loud, noticing that a familiar anxiousness started to tangle her insides as the warm breath of her 'captor' floated across her exposed neck "Is it, Lavender Brown?"

The Younger Girl dropped her hands from Hermione's eyes, screwed up her lightly freckled face, and acted out her best impersonation of the dim-witted Gryffindor The Brunette had mentioned. Both girls went wild with laughter, their cheeks turning pink while their eyelashes fluttered away stray tears.

"Ginny! Stop! You're being… You're being ridiculous!" Hermione made an effort to scold her friend between giggles and hiccups.

"Oh rubbish!" Ginny countered, sliding the pile of spellbooks from the cushion of the loveseat to the carpeted crimson floor and taking their place on the seat next to The Older Girl "You loved every minute of that!"

"Perhaps" Hermione replied, resting her right hand atop The Red-Head's bare knee. She registered the smoothness of the other girl's pale skin and hoped that the tingling sensation in her own fingers was nothing more than a side effect from her overdrawn laughter. "But YOU shouldn't be so juvenile." The Older Girl punched her friend playfully on the bicep then turned her attention to the portrait hole where students were filing in to The Common Room after a pleasant holiday dinner.

"WE" Ginny shot back – either she hadn't noticed the trio of 7th Year boys climbing the stairwell to their dormitories or she didn't mind them overhearing their conversation – "Granger, we all know you've got a knack for misbehaving." There was a fire raging in Ginny's crystal blue eyes before she winked coyly at The Brunette.

Hands sweating, Hermione dared to drink in the sight before her: auburn strands of hair spilling over muscular shoulders, random freckles dotting the flawless skin of toned forearms, and those tempting coral colored lips. "No, not THIS again!" The Older Girl cast the crude thoughts from her mind, forcing concerns for Ginny, for Neville, and for The Yule Ball into their place. "So, Neville?"

"Oh! You heard?" Ginny dropped her gaze, fiddled uncomfortably in her seat; a tinge of scarlet mixing with her fair complexion "He asked in the most –err- splendid way."

More than anything, Hermione wanted to know how her friend received the invitation; to be able to distinguish if her part in the set-up was something to regret – ever since dinner she felt it was – or if the unlikely pairing was truly a blessing in disguise. The Brunette raised a curious eyebrow, the sort of gesture that prompted The Red-Head to continue with the details uninterrupted.

"After lunch, Neville stopped me in the hall; asked if I could accompany him to The Black Lake, said he wanted my opinion on some sort of seaweed Professor Sprout was lecturing on. Now, I don't have anywhere near the same kind of "green thumb" Neville does, but I agreed to go all the same." Ginny lifted her head, scanned the emptying chairs of The Common Room, and slumped back down. "When we got to the lake, there was a bouquet of exotic looking flowers resting on the trunk of that willow tree and when I picked them up, a ripped piece of parchment fell out; it read 'Ginny Weasley. Yule Ball? –Neville'."

"That plonker! He forgot to-" Hermione blurted out, offended that her brilliant idea hadn't been considered let alone executed.

"-Who?" The Red-Head interrupted, her hand gripped The Brunette's shoulder, her evading glances consumed by peeking interest.

Hermione stuttered. She had been debating all along if she should indulge her friend in the events that led Neville to ask Ginny to The Ball, but she found her nerve was no match for Ginny's piercing stare.

"Neville. He needed help with asking you. I –err- suggested that he take you to the quidditch pitch since you are –err- obsessed with that sport. I told him he should charm one of those balls to –err- sing to you so he wouldn't have to ask you if he got too nervous." The Older Girl broke off with a nervous giggle.

"Oh Merlin, that sounded even more ridiculous out loud!" Hermione confessed to herself, she scooted further into the couch's armrest and cradled her blushing face in both hands; careful to avoid what she was sure to be Ginny's guffawing reaction.

"Brilliant! You should've asked me instead." The Red-Head responded, but catching the glimpse of utter embarrassment on her friend's face added with a mischievous grin, "I have one more question."

"Yes?" It took all of The Brunette's efforts to recompose herself. Swallowing the awkward lump in her throat, Hermione turned to The Red-Head apprehensive of what would come next.

"Are you ticklish?"

The question seemed so out of place, but before The Older Girl had time to think of a proper answer Ginny was on top of her, agile fingers running from her armpits down her sides. Hermione howled out in shock. Each inch of skin – covered and exposed – appeared to twist and melt beneath The Younger Girl's touch. One minute her limbs screamed in discomfort, the next her heart flooded with satisfaction.

"Ginerva!" Hermione struggled through fits "I…Have…Homework…To…Do!"

The hinges of The Fat Lady's portrait screeched open as an exasperated Harry Potter and Ron Weasley clambered inside and within seconds Ginny tore herself from Hermione's limp body.

"I don't reckon I know much about muggles," The Red-Head's gaze never left The Brunette's "but your presentation could start with a quote. Perhaps one along the lines of 'The one thing that doesn't abide by majority rule is a person's conscience'."

As she spoke, The Red-Head snaked her way up toward the spiral staircase. Hermione tilted her head in confusion; "she heard those words before, she was sure of it _"_ , but she didn't remember from where. At the last moment, Ginny brandished a tattered copy of To Kill A Mockingbird one with a severe crease in the title page. She winked and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Hermione alone, mouth gaping, in front of the blazing fire.

"Blood hell, Hermione! Do you ever stop reading?" Ron questioned, lumbering over to the scarlet armchair adjacent the hearth.

Narrowing her almond brown eyes, The Young Witch glared from Ron to Harry before drawing her attention back to the teetering stack of schoolbooks.

"I should've started on this weeks ago!" She stated, cradling Quidditch Through The Ages in her arms as images of serenading snitches danced around her head.

Soon, Hermione would retire to her four-poster, to be alone with her thoughts, and once she was left to her own devices she would tear apart her memories of that night until the reason - rather than the sentiments - remained. She would insist that "THIS was 'normal', SHE was 'normal'," but her worries weren't the least bit assuaged; "She was 'Muggleborn' and even Muggles didn't behave like she did around Ginny." There was nothing more frustrating to The Young Witch than having a question neither her spellbooks nor her schoolbooks could remedy; she would have to go through this "phase" alone.


End file.
